All Through the Night
by Jael K
Summary: She says she'll stay. She doesn't break her promises.
1. Chapter 1

_NOTE: I own none of these characters. I just like to mess with them. :)_

 _xxxxxxx_

 _"All through the night_

 _I'll be awake, and I'll be with you..."_

 _xxxxxx_

The boy wonders if he's dying.

It hurts to breathe, deep down inside. He stifles a sob as he lays in a fetal curl on the threadbare carpet, his cheek pressed against fabric sodden with snot and involuntary tears. He knows better than to cry—had known better for a long, long time—but they'd been startled out of him this time.

The house is dark and cold and silent. Even at her age, his sister knew to take her chance and run if their father's attention was pulled away from her, even if it took her brother's invention to do so. Hopefully, she is safe in her bed, the old man passed out somewhere and unable to administer the punishment she's escaped. He can't hear her crying, so ... hopefully.

His mother ... well, at the lofty and cynical age of 12, he knows better than to expect anything from someone as cowed and defeated as she is.

A tremor shakes his thin form and he whimpers involuntarily as his gut throbs more than it already was. It hadn't been a good idea to step in without a plan. He knew that, but ... if that beer bottle had come down on Lisa's tiny head, it would have done a lot more damage than the goose-egg it'd left on his admittedly thick skull.

That throbs, too. He twitches again and bites back a moan of pain. After the bottle had dropped him—and he still seethed at being so _weak_ —his father had driven the tip of one steel-toed boot into his stomach, hard. A punishment, for interfering.

This could be ... bad. On some level, he knows that, curling tighter and more protectively around his middle. Something inside is broken. He knows, muzzily and at a great distance, that he needs to drag himself somewhere safer than the dining room floor, but the pain is too intense.

He wonders again, starting to fade, if he's going to die.

xxxxxx

The man knows he is dying.

He can taste blood. Lying on his side in the alley, he can feel the spreading, sticky, warm feel of it as it oozes from the gash in his side. Not good.

He knows he should be moving. Should drag himself back to the ship, back to the others—wherever they've gone. Call for help. But everything seems to be happening at such a distance ... it all seems so far away ...

The pain has faded, actually. This is... also not good. On some level, he knows that. It's difficult to care. Story of a misspent life.

Knifed in an alley. Seems like some people are meant to come to a bad end no matter what, he thinks distantly, with a touch of gallows humor. It would almost be funny, if he hadn't almost thought ...

She was right.

It _was_ lonely.

XXXXX

Well, whatever the report or tip or random pipe dream led Hunter to urgently send them out into the streets of 1982 New York City, it had been for nothing. No sign, no fight, nothing more remarkable at the site than an utterly empty condemned building and a few startled pigeons. Sara Lance shakes her head as she trails the rest of the team back to the rendezvous point. A waste of time and energy.

And where the _hell_ is Snart ...?

Her footsteps slow as she approaches the others, wondering. He hadn't been at the building. This "mission" by any other name had been so disorganized and chaotic that she'd just assumed he was there somewhere, but ...

She never knows what makes her turn her head and glance down the alley to her right.

Is that ... a flicker of flame?

She waves a hand to the others and turns down the alleyway, walking lightly and ready for attack.

Stupid to do this alone. He's fine, he's probably beat them all back to the ship, ready with a smirk and sardonic comment. Right?

But she smells the sharp tang of blood first. Memory grabs her, and she gasps.

She takes a few steps closer and she sees the shadow sprawled on the ground.

And she knows.

He's left the goddamn parka behind, too hot in a New York August. Dark clothing, but that doesn't stop her seeing.

There's blood. There's _a lot_ of blood, and she knows from grim experience just how much a human body holds. For the fraction of a moment, she thinks that's it. She lets out a tiny sound, a faint "uff" as if punched in the stomach, and she can't breathe ...

And then she sees something. A breath, maybe.

Still alive.

She shouts for Kendra and Ray, screams for them to get back to the WaveRider and send help, and drops to her knees in the filthy alley, searching for a pulse in a man who can't have that much more blood to lose. It's there, faint and shocky, and she draws a breath of faint relief.

The jeans of her jeans are sodden. So is his shirt. He's contracted into sort of a fetal curl, there on the ground, and she hesitates to hurt him worse just to find out the nature of the injury. It's not like she has first aid supplies on her. And this needs so much more than that.

The ice-blue eyes are open, she notices now, just a crack. She knows he probably can't see her, not right now, a man who's lost this much blood is too far gone to ...

She's kept up a sort of low murmur, just to let him know someone's there, that help's on the way, that it will be OK ... trying to do something, she supposes. But she's surprised when the lashes flicker, just a little, and a whisper emerges from his throat.

"Sara..."

It's so faint, she can hardly hear it. "Yes! Yes, it's me. I'm here. Help is on the way. Hang in there. Just ..."

The next sound that emerges is nearly a snort, if you can count a mere exhalation as such.

His eyes are closed again.

"Not alone ..."

In a heartbeat, she's back in the ship, freezing.

" _What's it like, dying?"_

"No. Not alone. I'm here. I won't ... I won't leave." One arm has fallen out of its protective curl, one hand is slack in the pool of blood, and on impulsive, she slips her own hand into it, curling her own fingers around his cold ones.

For a fraction of a second, the grip that answers is far more strong than it should be. It's the grasp of a man hanging on for dear life. Then it's slack again ... but the fingers are still curled around hers.

And then they're there, the rest of them, Hunter himself looking panicked and yet somewhat irritable that everything has gone so damned wrong _again_. There's a stretcher, and she steps back as Jax and Ray fuss over the best way to get a badly injured man onto it without hurting him worse. She's more adept at causing injuries than getting them fixed, and she knows it.

But she doesn't let go of his hand, even though Hunter gives her a funny look.

"Stay," she thinks she hears as they lift him.

"I will," she says, thinking of the airlock. "I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

"Gideon says we got him here in time for a full repair." Hunter runs his hands back through his hair in his habitual gesture of distraction. "Miraculously, whoever did this didn't hit anything overly vital. Which is odd, almost, considering ..."

He's still out, though. Still and pale and hooked up to far too many machines in the medbay. She had to let go when they got there, although Hunter still keeps giving her odd little sideways looks. "What _aren't_ you telling me?"

"Nothing." The word is delivered in too clipped a fashion to not be hiding something. He's trying to be nonchalant and not quite managing it. The quick glance he throws over his shoulder doesn't fool her, either. "If he wakes up, he should be fine, just fine. Back to mayhem in no time."

One word. "If?"

"Yes, well ..." He hesitates, then sets his shoulders and looks her in the eye. He's not the greatest leader, Rip Hunter, but, ultimately, he's no fool. "There was a lot of blood loss. **A lot**." He hesitates again. "Gideon says his heart stopped. Twice. She's pretty sure there will be no lasting damage; she got him back nearly immediately, but ..."

"Right." Twice. And she hadn't been there. She's failed too many people in her life to be OK with that. "How long?"

"I don't know." Silence. "I'd guess we'll have an answer within a day. Is there ... anyone who should know ...?"

"A sister. Back in 2016." That was it, she realizes. At least she'd had people who'd missed her.

Both of them know there's no way to jump at the moment, not with a borderline critical passenger. There's no way to deliver news until after.

Hunter processes this, too, and she has some idea what he's thinking when he shudders, then runs a hand through this hair again. "I need to get back to the ship. Get some sleep and a shower, Miss Lance. There's really nothing you can do here."

He's right. She's exhausted, and all she's taken time for was a rapid change of clothing and to scrub her hands mostly clean of the blood.

"No."

This gives him pause. "No?"

She wraps her hands around herself, suddenly chilly. "I said I'd stay."

He opens his mouth, presumably to point out that the man in that medbay bed is in no condition to remember any such request or response made. But he's wise enough to shut it without comment, nods to her, and leaves.

At a loss, she stands still for a moment, then turns, studying the medbay, oddly unwilling to turn to her reason for being there at that moment. It's like something out of _Star Trek_ , she thinks, amused at herself. _Medbay_.

And capable of saving a man who should be dead and cold, as dead as she'd been herself once, once upon a time.

Finally, she completes her turn and walks resolutely over to the bedside. She's never been good at bedsides.

And _he_ looks like hell.

He's breathing, though. Feeling strangely shy about it, she studies him.

His skin is very, very pale under the usual line of stubble and there are fairly dramatic shadows under the closed eyes. An abrasion high on the right cheekbone, where he must have hit the ground, hard. Full repair or not, there's a full set of bandages from chest to, well, below the blankets. Not a sign of blood, now; Gideon's cleanliness protocols are impressive.

She looks down at her hands. She'd scrubbed them, but there's still blood in the corners of her nails, and an errant streak on the knuckles of her left. The one he'd grabbed.

He really shouldn't be alive.

She runs from the thought, turning away to scrub her hands again in the medbay sink, taking more time than she really needs to.

Then she takes a deep breath, returns to the bedside, and swings a chair around, resting her arms along the back and her chin on her arms and looking at this man who seems so capable of getting under her skin. For better or for worse.

"So ... who is Leonard Snart, anyway?"

No answer. Amused, she realizes she halfway expected one. Something snarky and disarming, reminding her that they don't _do_ feelings, not really.

"I mean ... I know the resume. I'm the assassin, you're the crook, remember?" But the reminder of that not-so-long-ago conversation is a surprising blow and she has to stop for a moment, surprised at herself. They'd flung the words at each other like weapons, but they've come to mean something to her, anyway.

How very strange.

"Well, I couldn't _not_ do some research on my new teammates, could I? I do have some resources, you know. I asked ..."

A cleared throat from the doorway. Stein. The impulse to rise, whirl, and attack wars briefly with the impulse to rise, whirl, and explain that this is _nothing_ , really, it's not. As it is, she simply rises so the scientist can enter and pretend that he didn't interrupt her.

"How is he?"

There is studied nonchalance in her shrug. "Hunter says that he'll make it ... if he wakes up."

"Hmm." He crosses to stand beside her, studying the monitors and readings for a few minutes before nodding.

"I'd say he's right, from what I've learned of these devices. Funny thing ..." he muses, turning his attention to the man on the bed. "... such technology! To have it in 2016! Imagine what we could do. But I also imagine that could cause as many problems as it solves."

She has nothing to say to that, really.

Stein is studying the still face of their comrade now, much like she'd been doing herself. Sort of, anyway.

"Do you, know he did, back in 1950?" he says abruptly. "Saved my life. And saved Jax's life. He could have ... taken him out ... and it would have been understandable. I mean, he was trying to kill us both. But he didn't."

"He wouldn't," she whispers.

" _Sara, don't do it ..."_

"Yes, well ..." He pauses, then clasps his hands behind his back, the image of the scholarly professor tucked back into place. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

"No. A stab wound, Gideon said." She keeps the flicker to herself. For now.

They stand in silence for a moment, then Stein pats her on the arm ... and why did he think _that_ was necessary? ... and leaves.

"Well ... I guess it's just us again."

xxxxxx

The boy is still alive.

He keeps slipping in and out, his head throbbing, his stomach a mass of pain. He can taste blood now, but he thinks he's bitten his tongue at some point.

He has to move.

He can't move.

It's hard to concentrate. Does that mean ...? His hands clench into fists. If he doesn't make it, who will watch out for his sister? How will he ever show people?

Show them ... he's better than his father ...


	3. Chapter 3

She keeps talking to him. Which is ridiculous, she decides, because he can't hear anything. And if he could, she wouldn't be saying half of what she was saying.

"... so, you really need to wake up, because if I have to have to stay on this ship with all these people who just don't ... get it ... I might go a little crazy, OK? A little crazier." She rubs her eyes again, tired. "You know that, right?"

No answer. She wouldn't put it past Leonard goddamn Snart to pretend he was listening just to have ammo later, though, and the thought actually makes her smile.

Another throat is cleared behind her. She'd tracked the footsteps earlier, though, and so she just waits for Jax to make his way fully into the room.

"Um..."

"He's stable, he's out, and if he makes it through the night, he'll probably be back to his felonious self in no time."

"... oh."

The young man shrugs uncomfortably, but steps further into the room. She's slightly impressed. She knows from an amused Stein that he has declared her "really, really scary" and she's not in a mood to modulate the "I can kill you with my pinky" vibes right now.

"Did anyone tell you about the emerald?"

She listens in silence as he describes his escapade with Snart and Rory back in 1975, where they went, and what Snart, anyway, did.

And why.

"You didn't tell Hunter."

"Well, I figure people deserve some secrets, you know? Especially one like that." His chin comes up a little bit. "Everyone has their shit."

She holds the story in her mind for a moment. It ... gels ... with what she knows, the little bits and pieces she's gleaned. Another angle to a man with many angles.

"I just figured someone else ought to know," Jax tellsher. "I mean, well ... shouldn't someone tell his sister?"

"I know about the sister," she admits, letting him wonder how. "We just can't go anywhere at the moment."

"Yeah ... right. But if ..." he stops, then finishes a bit lamely. "He saved my life, you know? I didn't give him enough credit."

"I don't think many people do."

xxxxxx

The boy is angry.

It's better than fear.

He hates his father. _Hates_ him.

Lying there in the dark, he is furious. Furious at his father. Angry at his poor, cowed mother. Angry at the classmates who mock his often too-small and tattered clothes, at the teachers who frown at his unexplained absences and ignore the black eyes.

 _You'll be nothing_ , they say.

I **will** , he snarls.

xxxxx

From anyone else, she would have called that a whimper.

She can't imagine Leonard Snart whimpering.

But she hesitates, watching, and sees his mouth curl in what seems like pain.

Hunter had assured her that there are copious painkillers in the mixture being pumped into his veins ... but she knows all too well there are many kinds of pain.

His fingers are twitching. She hesitates, then slips her hand back into his again.

And again, the immediacy and strength of his grip startle her.

Impulsively, she places her other hand over their clasped ones. His fingers still.

"You're a complex man, Mr. Snart," she muses. "And an intriguing one."

No answer. No Snart snark. No lifted eyebrow, no drawled commentary, no mild innuendo.

Just an unconscious man who'd come within a heart's beat of bleeding out just hours ago. The same one who'd saved her life a few times, and her soul at least once.

"You're supposed to be a super villain," she tells him. "What's up with that?"

Was that a smirk?

xxxx

The boy hates being weak.

If he was stronger, he tells himself, he wouldn't mind. It's better, being alone. If you are alone, if you don't trust anyone, no one can hurt you.

"Don't ever let anyone hurt you. Ever," a ghostly voice whispers in his ear. "... You always have to look out for yourself."

But here in the dark, hurting and alone and cold, he can admit, silently, that it would be nice to have ... someone ... to trust. Really trust, not just "OK, not a threat for now" or "until you decide I'm not worth it." Because he is lonely.

Stupid thought, that. Of course he's lonely. Life is, isn't it? At least, when you were like him, the beaten-up son of a crook.

Some people just don't get more.

xxxxx

Ray is getting on her nerves.

He's dropped by for the same reason the rest have, ostensibly, but now he's standing there staring at Snart like he's some sort of a ... bug ... and that just pisses her off.

"It could have been you, you know," she tells him.

He looks startled. "I didn't see anyone out there. I stayed with the group. What do you ..."

"Not what I meant." She wraps her arms around herself again. She's kept the medbay relatively chilly, for ... reasons. "I just ... if your life had been different, you might have been the crook and he'd be the scientist."

Ray looks baffled and she kicks herself. Maybe what she'd seen in his face hadn't been what she'd thought she saw. Just typical Ray cluelessness. And she doesn't want to tell stories that aren't hers to tell.

When the hell had she become protective of Leonard goddamn Snart?


	4. Chapter 4

Then, it's the den mother's turn. Privately, Sara knows she probably shouldn't call the other woman that, but there are times it just _fits_.

"How is he?"

"Out." She doesn't have the heart or the energy to go through the rundown again.

Kendra seems to understand. She crosses the room to stand next to her friend, silently putting a hand on her shoulder. It is, oddly, comforting.

"Why don't you go get something to eat and a nap? I'll stay."

She opens her mouth. Closes it. "No."

No comment. An inquisitive tilt of the head. Damn it.

"I can't," she adds, lamely. What else can she say?

 _I told him how lonely it is to die alone._

 _I told him I didn't even like him._

 _I promised I'd stay._

Kendra seems to hear what she doesn't say. Damn her.

"Can I get you something? A snack? A pillow? Something to wash up with?"

No one else has offered her this, has seemed to understand her choices, and she's suddenly grateful.

"Yes, please."

Kendra nods, eyes on Snart. Sara, watching, is suddenly startled by the realization that she is thinking about Carter ... who hadn't had the chance to be whisked back to Gideon for "repairs."

The brown eyes snap back to Sara.

"You're lucky," she says, abruptly, for Kendra. "You have more time. You might want to think about that."

She sweeps out, leaving Sara staring after her and wondering what the _hell_ she was talking about.

And uneasily suspecting that she knows.

xxxxx

Kendra is good to her word. With a sigh, Sara drags her shirt over her head, eyeing the basin of water.

"You're missing out, Snart," she calls over her shoulder. "Quite the show."

She misses the snark. She really does.

The water is warm and clear. By the time she's done washing up, it's clouded with dirt and blood. While it's not quite as good as a hot shower, she'll take it.

She pulls her shirt back on and takes a deep breath. That's better.

"Thanks."

The voice is gravelly, rough with fatigue and pain.

She doesn't jump, but she does freeze. And then she smiles.

"You're welcome."

Rising, she takes a deep breath, turns, and walks back over the bedside.

The blue eyes are open, if barely, and look even bluer against the pale face.

 _I have no business thinking_ that _about this man right now_ , she thinks, ridiculously.

"How long?" he rasps.

"You've been out about 12 hours," she tells him. "It was ... close. Gideon said you'd make it if you woke up. So, welcome back. You look like hell."

"Encouraging."

Ah, yes. There he is.

She's missed him. And she doesn't want to think about that, or the past 15 hours or so, too much.

"Well, I call 'em like I see 'em."

They study each other for a moment. Awkward. She's never been one to talk to fill a silence, but she does now.

"You're going to be fine," she says. Babbles, really. Goddamn it, Snart ...

His mouth twitches. Moment over, she thinks.

Or not.

"I thought I was going to die alone," he says quietly. "In the alley. Here. Thank you for staying."

Sincerity. It disarms her. "You're welcome," she repeats. "I'm glad I did."

They study each other again. So many things in the silence. They say none of them.

He breaks it again.

"It was .. Mick. And Savage. Although it was Savage with the knife."

It rocks her. Like him or not ... and, honestly she sort of _had_ ... he'd been a part of the team, and Snart's oldest friend. Who'd left him to die.

" _Shit_."

Her tone is pissed and surprised, but apparently not in the way he thought it would be. His eyes snap back to her face. "You ..."

"Look, Snart, I knew you didn't kill him. That's just not a thing you'd do. You wouldn't let me kill Stein; you wouldn't have frozen Mick to death in a field somewhere. I didn't believe that for a moment."

It's her turn for disarming sincerity, now.

She steps closer. He shifts, innately wary, as bandages move and the wiring pulls.

"Future medical technology. Good stuff to have." His gaze is full of suspicion. "How close?"

"Close." She avoids his eyes for a moment, then reaches out and slips her hand into his, like she's done on and off, all through the night.

His grip tightens both the rest of him reacts, gaze finally meeting hers again. But he doesn't say anything. Or pull his hand away.

It might have been a few moments. It might have been an hour. But they both startle ... and let go .. when Hunter's voice booms from the doorway.

"Back in the land of the living, I see, Mr. Snart!"

She can see the mask go back down. She's almost relieved.

"So it seems," he says, in that infuriating drawl. "Thank you, Gideon."

"You are welcome, Mr. Snart," responds the cool computer voice. "It seems there will be no lasting damage, and your heart is perfectly stable now."

 _Now_? The cool blue gaze is on her again. This time, she looks away.

Hunter, to all appearances, notices nothing of this. "Excellent! Well, there are some people here who'd like to see you."

And then they pour in, the rest of them, passing through the doorway, from Ray with his puppy-dog grin to paternally beaming Stein.

"Dude! You scared the rest of us! You should have seen all the blood!"

Stein pauses to scold an unrepentant Jax, and all eyes go there.

Except hers.

He looks ... bewildered, almost ... by all the relief and the attention for a moment, and then the mask slides smoothly back into place. But she sees, though briefly, and she lets him keep that small vulnerability without comment.

Once they've all had the moment to see for themselves that the injured member of their team is more or less on the mend and getting back to his snarky self - he manages to insult Ray six times in five minutes; she counts - they filter out again, Hunter reminding them that he'll be back later for a debriefing. She'll want to be here for that, she decides. He'll need the support.

What did she become his _support_?

Kendra has promised to return in a few moments, and she knows it's time to be going.

"I'll be back later. You doing OK?"

A lifted eyebrow. "I'll live. Apparently." He relents and lets the mask slip a little again. "I could use a drink and to move around a little, but I don't know if I can get away with that ... yet."

"I don't know how Gideon's 'full repair' works with the recovery process. I guess you'll find out."

After all this time, it's hard to walk away. But they still need their masks, most of the time anyway, and so she throws him a smirk as she turns to leave.

"So ... tell me, Snart ... were you awake the _entire_ time I was washing up?"

His bark of laughter follows her out the door.

And they can pretend nothing's changed ... for now.

xxxxxx

The boy lives.

He manages to pick himself up, pale and sweating, sometime before dawn, and hides in his room. His father acts like nothing's happened. He probably doesn't even remember. There's a lot of empties on the counter that night, after all.

No one makes him go to school that day. He manages it the next day, still pissing blood and carrying himself stiffly and carefully. There's a massive bruise on his side that turns all sorts of impressive colors before it finally fades weeks later, but no one notices. No one ever does.

He survives.

It takes a long time before he starts to consider trust as anything other than a liability again. He trusts his sister, to some extent, but she's from the same messed-up family that he is, so there's still all that baggage. He trusts a partner in crime for a while, but that eventually goes south. Honor among thieves, and all that.

Sometimes he's still the boy in the dark.

But lately, the man wonders if maybe trust might be less of a liability than he thought.

Maybe.

Just ... maybe.

xxxxx

 _We have no past, we won't reach back_

 _Keep with me forward all through the night ..._

Author's notes:

One: I like Mick in his own sociopathic way, but I do think he's going to be working with Savage for now. (See: Extremely similar "I want to watch the world burn" comments made by both. Mick in "Star City 2046," Savage in an earlier episode I can't recall at the moment. I daresay that is not a coincidence.) I hope there's hope for redemption at some point... but comic canon Mick has never tiptoed as close to the light as canon Leonard has. In fact, I don't think he's ever shown any interest in it at all...

Two: And, oh yeah, no way in hell the man who talked Sara out of killing Stein and spared Jax would have killed Mick. No bloody way.

Three: Sorry, no overt romance in this one. Fan of the slooooowwww burn here. (And quite necessary, with these two, I think.) Slow freeze, perhaps? Heheh.

Four: Kendra totally ships it.

Five: Yes, I know there's some funny timeline stuff here, and our villains are where and when they couldn't possibly have been. I am not unaware of this. I am also not unaware that no one as used to using a knife as Savage would have failed to deal a killing blow. HmmmMmmmm... ;)

Six: I have a bit of fluff to post in the next day or too, then I hope to have something else before the next ep, but I'll just have to see about that. Life and work, etc., etc.

Seven: Thanks for reading!


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